


The Wife and the Mistress

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Fluff, Humor, Multi, Smut, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor is worried that River will be jealous of his blossoming relationship with Clara. Let's just say that she isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wife and the Mistress

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at http://eleventy-kink.livejournal.com/365.html?thread=3874669t3874669
> 
> Mentions of past Doctor/Companion relationships. Very minor Name of the Doctor spoilers, I guess.

“I'm worried about Clara,” the Doctor revealed to River, head on her hip, limbs sprawled across their bed.

Lines formed over the Time Lady's face. “I thought you said you were after Trenzalore?”

He sighed, and reached up to tangle his fingers in golden curls. “I am. She's just young and sexy feisty and flirty and, and...”

“...and there, and good for you,” River concluded, cutting off his babbling. “Lord only knows I've never begrudged you the affections of your companions before.”

“When have I—?”

“Jamie and Zoe, Liz Shaw and Lethbridge-Stewart, Sarah Jane and Harry, both Romanas, all of your fifth face's companions--”

“--not Adric.” He shuddered. “Never Adric.”

“What did I tell you about mentioning that one in bed?”

“Hm?”

“New rule, then. And at least we won't have to have this conversation again.” She winked. “That spotter's guide is good for something, love. Where was I? Ah, yes, Rose, Jack, Sarah Jane again, Jack again, Rose again, and my parents. Lecher.” She laughed, and he felt it ripple through her body. 

“You aren't mad, then?” He opens one eye, as if surprised.

“Well, I might be mad if you don't share her.” There is a tint of bitterness to the words. “But I have every confidence that you will.” Back to smug. “And sooner rather than later.”

“Stopping by next Wednesday, then?”

“Spoilers...” and the sing-song echo faded into laughter.

***

“Clara!” The Doctor beamed and embraced his companion. Was he finally reciprocating, she wondered? Was that why he was dressed up? “My wife wants to take us to bed!”

“Buy me a drink first? Sorry, what? Is this the same dead wife as last time?” The gorgeous one, she added to herself. Questions she never had to ask her previous boyfriends...

“Yes. Ish. Somewhat dead. Was dead, will be dead later, not dead now.”

“That didn't make a lick of sense.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I'm going to have to be very drunk before I actually hop into bed with a madman and a ghost.”

“River!” the Doctor called into the bowels of the TARDIS. “Clara wants to go drinking! I was thinking the Razzmatazz Hotel, 3rd moon of N'Harr, 93rd century local time.” She emerged wearing a matching tuxedo. “Nothing like classy drinks to get the libido flowing, eh?” He looked up from setting the controls. “You look smashing, by the way. Yowza.”

“You put him up to this, didn't you?” Clara pointed an accusing finger at River. She had barely met River, but she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. “Now, I am clearly underdressed for where we're going, but then you are both going to explain everything over drinks until I'm soused enough to let the two of you into my pants.”

***

Four hours later, Clara was not wearing pants of any sort, unless you counted the garter belt that River had reached under to peel off her panties between rounds of highballs of increasing potency and exoticism. She hadn't been able to let herself go like this, really ever in her adult life, not since her mother had died when she was a girl, and she'd had to be strong for her dad (until he married that miserable blond bitch), and then work her way through uni, and then be strong for the Maitlands, and then scrape by until she could get her own flat. So yes, she decided (having lost count of her drinks), she was going to go to bed with her alien maybe-boyfriend and his foxy older maybe-wife. She tuned back in to the conversation for the Doctor to make a joke involving Joan of Arc, a Cybermat, and a bowl of cheese curds. “Yes,” she said blithely.

“What is it with beautiful women saying 'yes' to me with no context?” the Doctor asked rhetorically. “Yes what?”

“Yes, I think I will let the two of you take me to bed,” and Clara knew, instinctively, that it would be River and the Doctor, partners and equals, taking her and not the other way around. Not that she minded at all, she thought, turning to look at River. “Dance with me first. On the balcony. I want to be just sober enough to remember this in the morning. Clear my head beneath the stars. Both of you.” She was not entirely sure that that sentence was in the right order, and was still contemplating syntax when a gust of fresh air hit her square in the face. It caught her by surprise and spun her around into River and the scent of her perfume. She beamed and pulled her down into a kiss. The Doctor grabbed them both by the hand and twirled them about until they were up in the room the Doctor had booked.

***

She hadn't worn a bra with the dress—she couldn't with how low-cut the back was, and she often didn't need one anyway—so she had kept her dress on, opting instead to help undress the other two, getting them both naked to the waist. Her eyes bulged. “They say bisexuality is the ability to reach into your partner's trousers and be satisfied with whatever you find,” she quipped. “What have we here?”

River finished undressing with a grin. “Wraabian artificial pleasure prosthesis. Latest model. Very low-level psychic field transmits the sensation directly to my brain. You know you want to try it.” She whispered this last into Clara's ear. Clara glanced over at the Doctor, who was getting visibly redder just thinking about what the two of them were planning.

Clara beckoned him over and kissed him. Huh, she thought as they navigated a three-way snog, not as clumsily as she might have guessed (especially given the Doctor's participation), how many times have they done this before? Invite someone new and young into their bed to freshen things up? She wasn't sure she cared at the moment, as two pairs of cool hands freed her shoulders from the straps of her gown, and suddenly she felt the air and rough, scarred hands all along her body. Nervous, textured fingers tweaked her nipple and she gasped. She took the hand (whose, she wondered?) and drew the first two fingers into her mouth. The Doctor and River broke their kiss to watch her tongue play over the scrapes and burns; she found herself becoming aroused at the thrill of being watched, of being the center of attention. She released the Doctor's fingers and dropped her hands down to grab hold of them, and was rewarded with a pair of pleased rumbles. 

Sure, she thought as she sank to her knees. Suck a pair of alien cocks: why not? There was a perverse thrill in the whole escapade. She supposed it would have looked a bit pornographic if anyone was filming. But instead it was strangely intimate, as she took River's prosthesis in her mouth and began to slowly tease the Doctor with her hands, as they tangled their fingers in her hair and shared a passionate, familiar kiss. She switched to flicking her tongue over the Doctor's tip while she idly traced a line up from River's clit to her tip and was rewarded with a whimper from him and an earthy, alien curse from her. 

“Can we fuck her yet, husband?” came the question. 

“Please?” Clara replied, looking up at them with need, one hand slipping unbidden between her legs. Oh yes, more than wet enough for whatever they wanted to do to her. They pulled her to her feet and pushed her back onto the bed between them. 

“Do you know what the best part about this little number is?” River whispered into her ear, and Clara shuddered from the vibration in her jaw.

“Do tell,” the Doctor said with a knowing grin before dipping down to take a nipple into his mouth.

“It's self-lubricating and self-sterilizing, which means it's the perfect thing for what I'm going to do to you.” Clara nodded, realizing what they had planned for her. She'd bedded men and women, but never both at once; she'd had vaginal and anal sex, but never both at once. She shivered and parted her legs, nodding again and helping River get things aligned just so. 

She was finding it a bit difficult to focus on letting River slowly, gently slide inside of her as the Doctor continued to work, the tip of his tongue now tracing wet circles on the edge of her navel, breath cooling them at odd intervals. “Oh, fuck, yes.” She stroked the Doctor's long, straight hair and down his strong back as he traced the curve of her breasts with his chin of all things.

“Let's try it like this,” River said suddenly, rolling onto her back and bringing Clara with her. “Here, you take charge.” Clara nodded and closed her eyes, reaching between her thighs as she straddled River's lovely hips. She found the slick toy waiting for her and guided it into her, her thumb pausing to greedily trace the line of her own folds, then River's. She smiled at the resultant moan. 

“Mm, heavens, you feel lovely,” River said once she was fully inside of Clara. “Come here,” she said and pulled Clara back onto her. She could feel the older woman's strength, pinning her; it was as obvious as the press of full breasts into her back. 

“Look at the two of you,” the Doctor marveled. “Absolutely stunning.” He ran his fingertips up their bodies, from River's toes to Clara's forehead.

“I don't know if I entirely trust the aesthetic sense of a man who regularly stops to admire the beauty of Racnoss and killer robots,” River noted.

“Don't listen to her,” Clara managed. “Fuck me already.”

“I think I can manage that,” the Doctor said with a grin. Clara would have said he looked very full of himself, but then, so was she. So very full, was all she could think as they pulsed in and out, in and out, pounding like the twin hearts of a Time Lord, and in between them Clara felt so very fragile, so very weak, so very loved. So very human, she thought at last, as her pleasure built to a crescendo.

***

Clara awoke the next morning, eyes bleary with the sunlight. She had lost track of how many orgasms she had had, how many she had given, and, for that matter, where her dress was. She seemed to recall having put it on at one point to look at the stars from their balcony only to lose it again. She'd somehow kept her garter belt and stockings on, but that somehow made her feel more debauched. Debauched, hungover, and stiff: but tucked between River and the Doctor. That was a fair trade, she surmised. 

“Time is it?” The Doctor muttered.

“Time Lord senses letting you down?” Clara teased, but she peered at the clock anyway. “Ten-fifty seven.”

His eyes flew open. “River! Wake up! Everyone get dressed.” He hopped to his feet and began tugging on his pants and trousers.

River glared at him. “Husband, what is the matter now? And why is it so important as we can't keep sleeping? Bit of room service, lazy morning shag.”

“Find my dress,” Clara interjected.

“I only could only book the room for one night.”

“So?”

“Checkout is at eleven sharp.”

“So we'll pay a penalty fee.”

“This planet has very steep penalties for failing to honor the letter of a commercial contract.”

River sighed and began buttoning her blouse. “I suppose I shouldn't anticipate any return visits?”

“Not unless we can get downstairs in the next three minutes!”

“What about my dress!” Clara called. “What about me?” River tossed her her tuxedo jacket and shrugged. Clara sighed: it wasn't as though they were likely to come back to this planet, anyway. She grabbed her shoes and pulled them on. At least they were flats if they had to make a dash for it. 

As it happened, they made it down to the lobby with six seconds to spare (wider margin than the Doctor usually left, though Clara might have wanted to have a few more scraps of clothing to stand around in). “Not that last night wasn't extremely pleasurable,” she piped up once the Doctor had settled the bill, “but perhaps the TARDIS would be a better bet in the future?” 

“Well, I suppose it might be if you want to have a safe, predictable, secure sex life,” the Doctor began.

“That's a no, then.” Clara paused, and smiled. “Worth it anyway. And I suppose I shouldn't expect anything less.”

“For the two of you, I wouldn't dream of giving you anything less.”


End file.
